


Johnnie Walker Wisdom Running High

by ruric



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-22
Updated: 2009-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all these years you’d’ve thought John could spot trouble coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johnnie Walker Wisdom Running High

John’s head is pounding, still beating out the time to the drums that had shattered the night on Belkan. 

“Be our honoured guests at the harvest celebration” the headman had said and after all these years you’d’ve thought John could spot trouble coming. 

Apparently not so much when the trouble involved is Atlantis celebrating helping a neighbour bring in the crops - not to mention that after having the botanists work with the local farmers for three years on hybridrisation the crops are coming in with a much bigger yield than ever before which makes everyone, Belkan and Lantean, very happy.

So the Belkans had more than enough reason to celebrate and the Lanteans were out for a little fun and no-one had thought to mention that the local hooch, brewed from the vastly improved crops, also seemed to have increased in potency....by a factor of ten.

John’s door hushes open and it sounds like the end of the world so he pulls the covers up, clamps the pillow over his eyes and tries not to move. Or breathe. Much.

“Feeling it this morning huh?”

Ronon’s voice echoes right though to John’s sternum and if he had the strength he’d fight the hands pulling the pillow from his face.

“Drink this.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder pulling him upright and he’s squinting against the morning sun as a large glass that smells of...God he doesn’t even want to think what it smells of...is pushed into his hand.

John shoots a narrow eyed gaze a Ronon who’s grin has entirely too many teeth for a morning after the night before.

“Let me guess. Old Satedan folk remedy?”

“Kinda.”

One of Ronon’s hands is on the back of his head, the other tipping the glass to his lips and John swallows whatever it is down before he has time to think and then sinks back to the mattress taking the pillow with him.

“Satedan military's got a way to make you feel even better.”

Ronon’s voice is muffled by the pillow and John manages a sound that might be a snarl or a whimper, cause whatever the hell was in that potion has closed his throat and upped his heartbeat, sweat forming on his skin.

The sheet covering him is tugged free and John can’t be bothered to fight to keep it because the cool air is a relief. 

Relief short lived as it turns out that the cool air is followed by teeth nipping his thigh, the press of soft lips and the warm sucking pressure of Ronon’s mouth. The pounding of John’s head soon settles into the same rhythm as the throbbing of his heart and he thinks Ronon, and the Satedan military, might be onto something after all.


End file.
